


It's your fault, Sammy

by Naquar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Dialing, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naquar/pseuds/Naquar
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 7





	It's your fault, Sammy

Looking down on Sam is always a prospect to study, Dean thinks with a smile, especially now that his little brother is looking at him vaguely irritated.  
In fact poor, Sam, is not in one of the most comfortable positions: he is on the kitchen floor, with that idiot of Dean who sits comfortably above him, in a tangle of arms and legs.   
"Um, don't you think you shouldn't get up?"   
"You're interesting, Sammy," observes Dean, running his tongue over his lips.   
"My back will break"   
"You are very resistant: how much we fell together and ..."   
"... idiot, you threw me on the ground" Sam interrupts him with an eyebrow.   
"I was running after you, I forgot about it"   
"With everything you've drunk," says Sam with a stupid chuckle.   
"And you who took off your clothes? You complained that you were hot!" reminds him of the older Winchester.   
"But if I'm in a shirt and boxer shorts!"   
"We are drunk" Sam smiles.   
"A little bit" Right, we should celebrate the cases more " "Can you get me up now?"   
"But this is all your fault, Sammy" murmurs Dean with a half-crooked smile, before pressing his pelvis against that of his beloved little brother: his erection is hard and he presses to go out.   
Sam escapes a moan of surprise. "And you don't joke too, though" Sammy's prospects from top to bottom are interesting.   
"Please, Dean" whines Sam when he feels his brother's fingers caressing him over the boxers, just where the erection begins to be felt.   
"Well, there will be a lot of work to do ..."   
The bedroom is not far away.

Author note: it doesn't make much sense, but it's the fault of the flu, the boredom and the shit of tonsillitis :(


End file.
